


High and Flighty

by tysonrunningfox



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Hiccstrid - Freeform, airplane puns, flight attendant hiccup, should i have archive warned that one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 19:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17986919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tysonrunningfox/pseuds/tysonrunningfox
Summary: When Astrid's wedding stalled on the tarmac, she wasn't going to lose the deposit on the honeymoon.  She didn't expect in-flight entertainment.





	1. Making Connections

**Author's Note:**

> It’s high time I taxi this out of the hangar.  I wrote this months ago and have been waiting for the Wright time to share it.  
> 
> And this ridiculous is going to be like, four parts.  So please fasten your seatbelts and secure your seats in the full upright position…

 

Dick.  

 She should have known. No one with arms like that could be anything less than a dick.  No one who came between her and her best friend like that could be a good guy.  No one who got along that well with her stone cold father could be a good  _husband_.

 And apparently, he wasn’t reliable either.  

 Astrid looks at his picture anyway, the picture of them that she has in her wallet, all smiles on her parents back porch, the weekend that he gave her that ring.  It glimmers, unmuted by the events of the morning, from another era, a  _happy_  era.  

 She shoves the wallet back in her purse and sets it under the wide, first-class airplane seat in front of her.  The seatbelt light isn’t on yet but she buckles up anyway, fiddling with the strap at the end of the seatbelt and watching the pilot’s feet move behind the curtain between first class and the cockpit.  The window shade is already closed, she doesn’t want to see the runway drifting away beneath her, getting smaller and smaller and—

 Eret said he’d hold her hand on the flight.  It was a  _joke_  and she punched him for it, but some small part of her mind was clinging to the idea.  She should take advantage of the yawning seat next to her, wide and woefully empty.  Sure, it’s better than if the airline had upgraded some chatty excited person to sit next to her, but the space feels wasted.  

 “Alright,” a slightly nasal voice rings out from beside her and a man in the flight attendant’s uniform steps up to the front of first class, rubbing his hands together and grinning at the cabin with charmingly crooked teeth.  “As much as I’m sure you all want to see me point to the exits, I’m pretty sure it’s obvious that there are two.  One in front of Mr. stereotypical drowsy businessman,” he gestures across from Astrid at a large man in a large suit, already asleep with a mask pulled down over his eyes, “and another right in front of the stunning blonde—oh.”

 He freezes and his eyes go wide, freckled cheeks flushing pink as he pushes his outstretched hand through his floppy auburn hair.  “Right. Two doors.  Read the pamphlet if you care, we’ll be landing in Oslo in approximately eight hours and ten minutes.  Thanks.”

 He shakes his head and starts walking towards the back of the plane.  She doesn’t know why she does it, but she pats the seat next to her to get his attention.  He looks at her red-faced and horrified and she grins, “Stunning, huh?”

 “I’m uh, I’m sorry about that ma’am—”

 “The fasten seatbelt sign is on, prepare for take-off.”  The pilot’s voice rings out over the speakers and the flight attendant gives her an odd little wave before disappearing through the curtain between coach and first class.  

* * *

 The next time she sees him, they’re at thirty eight thousand feet and he’s pulling a cart down the wide aisle, pouring drinks.  He stops next to her and glances at the still sleeping business man, leaning slightly over the empty seat. 

 “Do you think I should wake him?”

 “Nah, I’m pretty sure he took some pretty big sleeping pills.”  Astrid looks at the cart, “how much alcohol can you give me?”

 “How much can I give you?” He laughs, pulling out a drawer of the cart, revealing a loosely sorted layer of mini-alcohol bottles.  “Technically, they advertise first class as bottomless well of debauchery,” he glances around at the mostly business men asleep in their chairs, “but I think I’m supposed to cut you off after six.”  

 “Give me six of those things then.”  

 “Fear of flying?”  He asks, hands hovering a little above the drawer.  “Or…”

 “I’m not  _afraid_ ,” she grimaces at the pulled window shade, “I’m not necessarily a fan of being a few  _miles_  above the ground but…”  She pushes her bangs out of her face, they’re still stiff with the hairspray she didn’t manage to wash out in her too quick shower and her head almost itches. “Tough breakup.  I’d appreciate if you just gave me the booze.”  

 “Tough breakup?”  He frowns and starts rummaging through the drawer, stacking up little bottles in his hand.  “Well, I’ll keep that in mind.  Apparently there’s a couple of happy honeymooners somewhere up here, I’ll tell them to keep it down.”  

 “Ah, that’s the thing,” she holds her hand out for the alcohol.  “Half the honeymooning couple, right here.”  

 He whistles lowly and frowns at her, dropping the mini-bottles back in the drawer, “let me do this right.  I was giving you the good stuff in an attempt to charm you, but how about I find the highest proof ones instead?  Get you the most bang for your six drinks.”  

 “Why would you do that?” She laughs and glares at him. “Because I’m  _stunning_?”  

 “Well, you are,” he shrugs. “I just made an ass of myself talking about the honeymooners, the least I can do is get you a strong drink.”  

 “Thank you…” she leans forward and peers at his name badge, narrowing her eyes.  “Hiccup?”

 “What?”  He laughs before looking back down at his chest.  “Oh that’s—that’s a joke,” he pushes his hand back through his hair and hands her the six bottles of mostly clear alcohol. “I’m Harold, I used to escort unaccompanied minors and it broke the ice.  Childhood nickname.”  

 “I’m going to call you Hiccup,” she shakes her head at him and pops one of the bottles open, shooting it back and swallowing with a hiss.  

 “Easy there,” he flushes and gives her an awkward half-smile before pushing the cart further up the aisle.

* * *

 An hour later she has the other five bottles left and the world isn’t so foggy anymore.  They served dinner in the interim and she turned it down, despite Hiccup’s insistence that first class food isn’t like normal airplane food.  She doesn’t want to eat.  She should have eaten the reception dinner that she’s been planning for  _months_.  

 Why did she think this would somehow work out if she planned it perfectly?  Why didn’t it?  

 People around her are turning off their reading lights and the plane’s overhead lights are dimming. She should sleep, the plane is landing at something like 8:30 in the morning, Oslo time, and she’ll be horribly jetlagged if she doesn’t.  

“Hey, Miss Stunning,” that all too familiar voice breaks her trance and she looks into the aisle to see Hiccup standing there with a neatly folded blanket.  “Sorry, you never told me your name.”

 “It’s Astrid.”  

 “Oh, Nordic name and you look…do you have family there?”  He blurts and she raises her eyebrow at him, thumbing the lid of one of those little bottles.  “Right, honeymooner—Anyway.  Anyway, I thought I’d try to help, again, and bring you one of the good blankets that people have to ask for.”  He holds it out towards her for a second before dropping it on the seat next to her. “Just in case you’re cold or—and I bet you know how to use a blanket.  I’ll leave again before I ruin your night more.”  

 She stares at him for a moment before laughing, opening the tiny bottle and taking a sip.  

 “You’re actually the best thing that’s happened to me all day.”  

 “What?”  He laughs too loudly before ducking his head when the sleepy business man rolls halfway, snoring.  “That’s impossible, I’m just being an ass and telling you all about honeymooners and—there, I did it again.”  

 “Thank you for the blanket, Hiccup.”  

 “You’re welcome, Astrid. Can I call you Astrid or is it Miss—”

 “Miss  _Stunning_?”  

 “You aren’t going to let me live that down, are you?”  He’s dark and flushed under the dimmed lights.  

 “Don’t you have other people to attend to?”  She laughs and kills her tiny second bottle, reaching for a third.  

 “Probably, because apparently I make you drink,” he gestures to the line of bottles across her tray table, three still full and one full in her hand.  

 “Never drink alone,” she shrugs and tosses back the shot while he’s still standing there. 


	2. Turbulence

Another hour later, everyone else in first class is asleep,most of them snoring lightly.  The inflight movie is still playing on the individual screens on the back of the seat in front of her, some stupid rom-com that’s all cliché and flirtation and she can’t take it.  Hiccup is walking down the aisle from the cockpit and she watches him a little too closely.  

 He looks  _nothing_  like Eret.  All long legs and lean freckles arms with his sleeves half rolled up. He makes blushing eye contact and stops next to her seat, drumming his fingers on the empty aisle chair.  

 “Do you need anything else? I’m going to go try and get some sleep but if you needed something—”

 “What?  Now I’m getting special treatment?”  

 “You were always going to get special treatment,” he swallows and looks at her a little too carefully.  “Not that I give special treatment to all the pretty—”

 “Stunning.”

 “—women that fly or anything but…Do you want some free headphones or something?  We’re supposed to charge like two dollars, but I’d grab you a handful if you wanted.”  

 “What would I do with a handful of free headphones?”

 “I don’t know.  I’m an idiot.”  He smiles at her, “and this is crazily unprofessional.  And I should go and—”

 “Sit down,” she picks the blanket up off of the seat next to her, placing it on her lap and stroking the soft weave.  “If you want. I bet these chairs are more comfortable than the flight attendant ones.”  

 “They are comfortable,” he looks at the seat for a moment before sitting down, sighing and leaning back into the cushy padding.  “Oh, I missed these.”

 “What do you mean you missed these?”  She asks, sipping on a fifth half-empty bottle.  

 “I used to be that guy,” he gestures to the businessman across the aisle.  “Well, not exactly.  I never took heavy sleeping pills on the runway, but I used to work for my dad’s company and fly to meetings all over in business class.”

 “And now you’re a flight attendant?”  She turns halfway to face him and he raises his eyebrows, convincingly feigning offense.  

 “That’s awfully presumptive, Astrid.  I could be the air marshall.  Every flight has one these days.”  

 She looks at his skinny wrist on the armrest between them and rolls her eyes, “right.  Because they’d expect you to take down a terrorist with all that brute strength.”

 “Strength isn’t everything,” he elbows her gently and she drains her drink, setting the empty bottle aside.  “I’m wily.”

“Right, so incredibly—what is that?”  The plane rattles slightly, warbling underneath her like it’s—oh god, is it rattling apart? She didn’t drink enough to imagine this, it must actually be happening.  Her hand clamps down on his on the armrest before she can think, like holding on might somehow keep the plane in the air.  

 “It’s just a little turbulence—”

“We’re crashing, aren’t we?”  She slams the window flap open and stares out at the clouds.  

 “We aren’t crashing, it’s just some turbulence.”  His hand closes warm and oddly comforting over the back of hers.  “It happens all the time, northern air currents—”

 “That asshole, he’s supposed to be here.  He was going to keep me calm on the fucking plane—”

 “It’s ok, this happens all the time.  I fly half a dozen times a week, and this happens almost every time, I’m still alive.”

 “I know it’s ok,” she snaps, hand clamping down on his and he rubs her arm soothingly.  “Stop  _petting_  me, I’m not—”  The plane trembles again and she leans away from the window, accidently against his shoulder.  

 “No offense, but I’m going to keep petting you until you calm down.”  

 “I’m perfectly calm, Hiccup—”  She hisses, curling her knees up onto the seat and biting her lip.  The plane levels out with a shudder and she slumps back into her seat, suddenly acutely aware of his hand stroking the skin above her elbow.  

 “Oh, um, sorry—I didn’t…” he backs off of her instantly, leaning out towards the aisle and holding his hands up in surrender.  “I didn’t mean to get all—”

 “I don’t  _like_  flying.  I like to have both feet on the ground,” she hugs one knee and rests her chin on it, looking down at that last little bottle of alcohol before twisting off the cap and drinking it back.  “I didn’t even want the big honeymoon, or the big wedding.  I wanted to elope and get it over with but no, he wanted to make a show of it.  I had to—God and my best friend isn’t talking to me, because of that  _asshole_ , so I had to ask some cousin I’ve met twice in my life to be my maid of honor and we were just standing in the back of the church, waiting for the groom to get there—”

 “You don’t have to tell me all of this.”  

 “No one would even talk to me after, at this reception where my parents were getting drunk and my mother was crying and I was there in my sweatpants, staring at the car we’d hired to take us to the airport.  I already paid for this trip, I should  _go_.”

 “I’ve heard Oslo is amazing,” he offers and she curls her lip.  “I’ve only ever seen the airport, but I’ve heard it’s beautiful this time of year.”  

 “I brought work with me.”

“That doesn’t sound like a vacation.”

 “How did you go from being a business man to being a flight attendant?”  She asks, propping her tray table back up and securing it.  It seems to give her infinitely more leg room and she stretches out, leaning back in the seat.  “That’s a pretty big career shift.”  

 “I hated business,” he shrugs, staring at her strangely.  “Why do you want to talk about my career?”

 “Because it’s better than someone else pitying me.  Why do you hate business?  I’m in business, loosely.  That’s what my degree says at least.”  

 “I hated seeing so many conference rooms.  I ended up all over the world and only saw hotel conference rooms.”

 “And seeing airports is better?”  She scoffs.

 “This is temporary.  I actually just graduated pilot school last week, I’m looking for a job in the front part of the plane.”  

 “Congratulations,” she punches him in the shoulder and he flinches.  “What?  That wasn’t very hard.”  

 “You’re sort of violent. And you’re afraid of flying, and you bring work on your false honeymoon.”  

 “And you’re cataloging me,” she scowls and stares again at the seat in front of her, where someone is snoring quietly.  

 “It’s called getting to know you.”

 “What?  Do you need age, height, and weight?”  She taps her foot uncomfortable against the sidewall of the plane, looking down at the bright red socks she put on that afternoon in a moment of dismal whimsy.  

 “How long were you with that asshole?”  He asks, using her favorite nickname for him.  She could learn to  _like_  Hiccup, genuinely.  

 “Two years,” she shakes her head.  “Engaged for six months.  God, those are round numbers, like we were on some schedule.”

 “Were you?”  

 “Maybe,” it’s easier to talk about this with him than it should be.  “I always wanted to be married by the time I was twenty seven and have a mortgage by twenty eight, and maybe those round numbers fit into that somehow.”  

 “I—I don’t have any advice,” he shrugs and suddenly he’s too close, shoulder warm so close to hers. “But I’m full of bad jokes, if that would help anything.”  

 “Bad jokes, huh?”  She shifts slightly in her seat, leaning back against the wall of the plane.  “Go for it.”

 “Why are there fences around graveyards?”  

 “Why?”  She frowns.  

 “Because people are  _dying_  to get in,” he finishes with a cheesy smile. She snorts.  “Ok, that one isn’t my best.”  

 “You have better ones?”

 “Why did the scarecrow get promoted,” he doesn’t wait for her to ask, leaning in slightly and grinning, “he was outstanding in his field.”  

 “That’s horrible. These are horrible jokes,” she shakes her head and pokes him in the thigh with her toes.  It feels like a habit and she swallows hard.  

 “Well, you’re smiling now,” his lips quirk slightly and she focuses on a small scar on his chin, shiny among stubble she didn’t notice a few hours ago.  “So they did their job.”  

 “I’d…I’d return the favor but I don’t joke much,” she sighs and pushes her bangs out of tired eyes. “Maybe that’s my problem.  Maybe I should joke more.” 

“I don’t know, it was pretty hilarious when you broke my hand because the plane trembled a little bit,” he grins and holds his fingers out towards her.  She grabs it and wiggles his thumb and pinky, scoffing when he doesn’t flinch.  

 “It’s not broken—”

 “I really think it’s broken. You’ve got quite the grip.”  He nods appreciatively and she’s staring at him, oddly wide eyed and half-frowning.  “What?”  

 “Hold…hold still.”  She leans forward and kisses him and this is so amazingly stupid.  

 He lets her kiss him, he doesn’t push back or take over or try and direct them, instead following her lead and moving his mouth cautiously with hers.  It’s been two years since she wholly directed a kiss and she leans into it, hand finding the sharp line of his jaw and holding his face against hers.

 The plane trembles and she gasps, pulling away and staring at him, scrambling for the armrest.  

 “That was bad, wasn’t it?” He whispers, voice distractingly husky. “That was really bad.  I should—I’m tired, I’ve been awake too long,” he stands and stumbles over the metal guard at the edge of the narrow hall and catching himself on the edge of the chair.  “I should go uh—yeah, I should go.”  He disappears through the curtain behind her and she’s left staring at the indent he left behind in the leather.


	3. No Smoking in the Lavatory

She doesn’t sleep.  

 She stretches out across both seats and lays that thick, soft blanket across her lap, pretending to read a book in the dark.  That kiss felt like something more than it was supposed to be, more than the curious cleansing of a palette.  It was…well, it was sort of  _nice_.

 She’s still warm, the pit of her stomach fluttery and uncomfortable as she rubs chapstick on her lips, blaming the tingles on the dry airplane air.  There was a familiarity in that kiss, like she’d done it before, like it wasn’t anything monumental in the grand scheme of things.  But at the same time it’s overwhelming, she can’t remember any of those thousands of other kisses, those other boyfriends.  It was like a first kiss, and she finds herself expectant for a second.  

 Flight attendants have seats at the back of the plane, don’t they?  It’s just two curtains and a long coach hallway between her and getting some sort of answer.  

 She could just walk over there, push the curtain back, straddle his sleeping knees and—what?  

 No, that’s completely bizarre.  

 Less than 24 hours ago she was in a wedding dress in some church consoling another man’s mother about him not being there, and now she’s thinking about straddling a flight attendant? An interesting flight attendant, with big warm hands who tells bad jokes and trips over nothing.  

 She looks down at the stark tan line on her left hand, blurry where the diamond of her engagement ring used to sit.  Big diamond. Flashy.  Something that deterred men and made women jealous.  Something that she  _hated_ , it got caught on everything, all the time.  

 She’s…well, she’s not  _happy_.  She’s wondering how much she’s lost in the last two years, and it feels like a  _loss_.  It’s not a stepping stone or a learning curve, it’s useless, lost time.  

 But she doesn’t miss the ring.  

 She’s glad it was obnoxiously large enough to pay back most of what her parents spent on that massive wedding.  

 She’s actually glad that she had Hiccup  _petting_  her through the turbulence, rather than Eret’s laugh as he tried to cover up being scared himself. It felt honest, close.  Closer than she’s been to someone in a while.  She shouldn’t want to be close to him, but she does.  And that’s not going away.  

 And this is stupid. This morning she was some pathetic, abandoned woman waiting in the back of a church, and now she’s waiting again. She’s Astrid Hofferson, she’s still Astrid Hofferson, and she doesn’t  _wait_ for anyone.  Not anymore. Never again.  

 She tosses the blanket off and stands, setting her mind to stalking to the back of the plane and giving  _Hiccup_  a piece of her mind. First off, that ridiculous nickname—

 He comes through the curtain from coach and nearly runs into her, taller than she’d guessed he would be somehow.  His eyes widen, impossibly green above his flush and she looks both ways, at the mid-plane bathrooms on either side of them.  One of them is occupied, but the other bright little sign reads vacant and she grabs his wrist, yanking the door open and shoving him in before her.  

 He stumbles back onto the seat and she latches the door behind them, inhaling sharply when the light flickers on and casts stark shadows on the  _tiny_  room.  

 And it’s tiny.  He’s as far back into the corner as possible, sitting on the closed toilet lid and her knees are still pressed into his, feet turned awkwardly to the side and making her lose balance.  She sways for a second, grabbing the handle inside of the door and lowering herself as purposefully as possible onto his knees. He swallows.  

 “First off, Hiccup is a ridiculous nickname.  It really is, and I don’t understand why I found it oddly charming—find it charming, but I do.  And that’s infuriating.  Because I was supposed to be grieving, or something, I’m supposed to need time to grieve.”  

 He opens his mouth to say something and she reaches out, clapping her hand over the lower half of his face.  

 “Another thing.  You didn’t have to sit down, you didn’t have to bring me drinks and blankets and offer me stupid, free headphones.  I didn’t need anyone to comfort me during the turbulence.  I was—But you did anyway.  And I don’t know how I feel about that, because I sort of liked it.   And who quits a business career to be a pilot anyway? And who works as a flight attendant for  _fun_?  It’s a horrible job and you’re never  _landed_  and you’re just seeing airports instead of conference rooms. You can tell me that the Oslo airport is great but you’ve never been to the city, you didn’t think that through,” she lectures him and his lips, those stupidly captivating lips, quirk against her palm.  

 She narrows her eyes at him, “and what was with that kiss?  Seriously?  I was looking for a palette cleanser or something to prove that I’m distraught or messed up but no, it was  _good_. It was sweet and it clicked and I wasn’t sad.  And now I’m not sad, I’m just…I’m sitting on a flight attendant named Hiccup’s lap in an airplane bathroom.”  

 Her hand slides off of his chin and hovers above his shoulder for a moment before folding in her lap.  

 His mouth moves wordlessly for a second, and she notices a gap between his front teeth that only serves to make him more attractive.  He smiles nervously and looks around, “this is a really tiny room.”

 “What?”

 “There’s…there’s no room in here at all, you’re literally on top of me.”  His knees shift underneath her and she teeters.  He catches her waist seemingly unthinking and steadies her. “Not that I’m complaining about you being on top of me, but—I’m sorry about that kiss.  Really.”  

 “I just told you it was a good kiss—”

 “And you’re a half-drunk would-be honeymooner,” his hands tighten on her hips anyway.  

 “I’m not  _half-drunk_ , I had six drinks in four and a half hours. I could drive.  I’m not even tipsy.”  

 “Drunk on grief.”  He bites lip and his thumb strokes almost absently against her lower back.  “And you’re the stunning blonde and I’m Hiccup.”  

 “What does that even mean?” Her hand unfolds onto his shoulder and he stares at her strangely, Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows. “I didn’t mean to drag you in here and sit on you.  There’s no privacy on this plane and we needed to talk.”  

 “About my nickname and my career choices and a fantastic kiss?”  

 “It was good for you too?” She jumps on the question, scooting closer along his legs.  Her feet knock against the wall of the toilet and she sighs, standing halfway and swinging one leg across his lap.  “So much better,” she grabs his shoulders again, eyes widening at the close, hot brush of his chest across hers.  She leans in to kiss him again and he stops her with almost stern hands on her hips. “What?  You said it was a  _fantastic_  kiss.”  

 “It was,” he nods, staring at his hands against her hips.  “I don’t do this.”  

 “You don’t do what?”  

 “I don’t get with hot grieving women in the bathroom.  That’s not some secret perk of being a flight attendant.”  He laughs and looks around again, staring too long at the mirror mounted above the tiny sink, reflecting his flushed, freckled face and her determined expression.  She sneaks a glance and frowns, raising one hand to wipe crumbling mascara off of her cheeks.  

 “I’m not  _grieving_.  I’m just…my grandma didn’t die, my wedding just fell through.”

 “And that’s something that probably messed you up,” his hands slide up to her waist, his touch completely opposed to his tone.  It’s a touch that pulls her closer and her eyes dart down to his lips.  “Because  _you_  are sitting here um, straddling  _me_ , and that means something—something must not make sense.”  

 “Then why are you  _holding_  me?”  She looks down at his hands, bangs dangling against his forehead as he tightens his grip on her waist.  “It doesn’t seem like you’re shoving me off.”  

 “I’m going to get fired.”

 “You’re looking for another job in the front of the plane, you just told me that.”  Her hands land back on his shoulders, flirting with the crisp collar of his uniform shirt.  She shifts her knees on either side of the toilet seat, flinching when it squeaks underneath their combined weight.  “Do you want me to get up?  Do you want me to get up and go back to my seat and let this go?  Because I don’t want to do that.  I don’t know why, and it doesn’t make sense, but that kiss felt like  _something_.”  

 She stares at him for a long moment and he licks his lips, looking at her curiously.  Examining her.  Like he’s going to take her apart and see just how the cogs turn.  

 His hands tighten slightly, anchoring her to him as he leans in and kisses her, soft and tentative. It’s a welcome change, a breath of fresh air, something new and sweet and distracting.  She leans into it, swallowing his small, throaty moan and weaving her hand through the back of his slightly overgrown hair.  

There it is again.  That spark, that familiarity, and it doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t make any sense at all.  Her knees tighten around his hips and he hisses against her mouth, hands scrabbling to push her away.  

 “Shit.  Astrid—”

 “See?  That’s something.  It’s  _something_.”  Her fingers stroke through his hair like a habit and she tries to remember being this  _affectionate_ elsewhere.  “It’s…urgh,” she growls frustrated and leans in to kiss him again, pulling away after a long string of slow, soft pecks.  “See?  Or do I need to show you more?” 

“I feel it—I mean, you can show me more if you want—mmph.”  He sighs into her lips as her tongue tangles with his.  She can almost forget the too sanitized smell of the airplane bathroom. 


	4. Deplaning

“It’s—” she trails off when he rubs his nose cautiously across hers.  “It’s  _nice_.”  

 “Yeah,” he nods, kissing along her jaw with near fluttery contact and she rocks her hips down against his.  He moans again, hands clamped tight around her ribs as a definite hardness introduces itself to the situation.  

 “Very nice,” she tugs him back to her lips and grinds forward, purposeful this time.  And it’s thrilling and wonderful and  _hot_ , sweat beading on the back of her neck as she nibbles his lip.  

 “Astrid—”

 “What?”  She whispers against his cheek, kissing down the side of his neck and doing it again, harder, until he bucks back up into her, jolting against just the right spot.  She moans into his ear and he repeats the action, scientifically precise.  She gasps against his cheek and dives back into his lips, rocking against his lap and reaching around to grab a handful of his ass.  

 His hand slides under her shirt, impossibly warm against her lower back as he kisses her again, more dominant but no less thrilling, all gentle talented lips and callused fingertips flirting with the waistband of her pants.  She claws at the buttons of his uniform vest, pushing it off of his shoulders before fumbling with his shirt, fingers shaking against the small, hard buttons.  

 Someone knocks on the door and they freeze, wide eyed and breathing too hard in the small space. The lights are on a timer and went out at some point, but they come back on when Astrid sits up straight and looks over her shoulder, clearing her throat, “Occupied!”  

 “This is stupid,” he laughs, and she wonders how she didn’t notice how tantalizingly close to her ass his hand migrated.  She presses herself into the touch and he gulps, palming her almost too softly.  

 “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

 “It is a bad thing.”  

 “None of this feels like a bad thing,” she reaches back and plants her hand on his, curving his fingertips around the contour of her butt and leaning in to kiss him again.  “Do you have something?”

 “What?”  His hand freezes on her backside and she grinds against him again, like it’ll help him think.  Somehow.  His eyes roll back in his head and she kisses him for it.  A reward for being so wonderfully receptive.  

 “Do you have a condom?” She kisses his neck and he shivers. “I don’t have anything, I was planning a very sexless vacation.”  

 “Condom?”  He laughs, burying his face in her shoulder. “Because I always need a condom in this immensely flattering uniform.”  

 “Is that a yes or a no?”

 “It’s a no,” he buries his face in the v-neck of her tee-shirt and her whole spine tingles at his too warm breath rasping across her skin.  

 She growls and slumps backwards, hitting her head on the door handle, “there’s not room anyway. How do people even join the mile-high club?”  And she slumps dramatically forward against him, forehead resting on his shoulder. 

 “I can think of a few ways to—never mind,” he shakes his head, and when he kisses the side of her hair it’s practically a habit.  “Never mind. Stupid.”

 Someone moves through the hallway of the plane, opening and shutting the door of the bathroom across from them and he freezes under her, bonier than she’s used to but still strong, still warm and infuriatingly irresistible.  She lifts her head and kisses him again, slower and less urgent but no less intoxicating. 

 “We’ve been in here too long,” she breathes against his face, brushing her lips over his and pulling back enough to see freckles and big green eyes.  He’s more handsome than when she dragged him in here, more sturdy jaw and deep, strong eyebrows.  “I should go back to my seat.”  

 Another kiss, longer and slower as his hands press into her lower back, holding her to him. She thinks about reaching back and dragging it down, under the waistband of her pants. Towards where she wants him.  

 She curses how thorough she was, cleaning everything sexy or sexual or preventative out of her luggage. She thinks of her underwear, practical and cotton and the last thing that she wants Hiccup to see.  She pulls back with a growl, shoving his shoulders against the wall like it’s his fault.  He pushes her hair behind her ear and sighs.  

 “You should,” he checks his watch and sighs.  “Breakfast in half an hour.  The lights will be on soon.”  

 “Breakfast?”  She perks up slightly, hands sliding down his arms, tracing long, lean muscles through his crisp shirt.  “I’m starving.”  

 He kisses her again. Urgent and needy like it’s the last time and a truly crazy idea bubbles to life in the back of her mind.  

* * *

She sneaks out first, after a long, awkward moment perched on his lap, fixing her hair.  He never quite went soft and he never stopped touching her, big, flat hands tracing her lower back and very cautiously the tops of her thighs while she told him repeatedly to wait a few minutes after she left to follow her.  

 He didn’t listen, emerging barely thirty seconds after she dropped into her seat and giving her a shy smile.  

 The lights click on too soon and she stacks those six empty liquor bottles along the front of her tray table and waiting for the breakfast cart.  It rattles up to her seat and Hiccup rests his hand on the back of that empty chair.  He grins down at her nervously, like she’s about to bite his head off.  She waves one of the empty bottles at him.  

 “Are you collecting trash?”

 “Sure, I can take those, milady,” he freezes when the endearment falls out of his mouth, hand half extended towards her and she tucks the bottle against his thumb, gasping at the electric shock of his skin against hers, still oddly potent.  “Uh, sorry,” he shakes his head and smiles, handing her a small tray with a warm croissant and a small jam selection.  “Coffee?  Tea?”

 “I’ll take some coffee.” Because he’ll linger a few moments longer if he’s pouring her coffee.  

 “Do you feel better this morning?”  

 “Feel better?”  She accepts the cup of coffee and sets it on her tray table.  

 “You know, about the whole  _wedding_  thing.”  

 “Right.”  The wedding.  The wedding that was supposed to happen  _yesterday_.  She should have been sitting in this seat with a gold band on her finger, oblivious to the awkwardly endearing flight attendant with the electric lips.  “I wanted to ask you something.”  

 He raises an eyebrow at her, glancing further up the plane and down at all the trays he still has to deliver.  “Come on my honey—vacation.  Come on my vacation with me.  It’s already paid for.  For  _two_  people.”  

 “What?”  He cocks his head and grimaces as someone ahead of them looks back, obviously irritated.  

 “Think about it.  The city is probably nicer than the airport.”

* * *

 He isn’t coming.  She waits too long at the gate, reading too much into that last lingering smile he gave her as she got off.  He didn’t mean anything by it, apparently.  He probably does do this all the time.  

 She’s probably just stupid and naïve, and she left whatever street smarts she had in that dead end relationship back home.  Eret would think this was hilarious.  Eret is an asshole.  

 She sighs and walks towards baggage claim with a little more purpose, bag too heavy on her shoulder as she wishes for a few more of those shooters.  Those high proof shooters that he rummaged for.  Smooth.  

 How was a guy named  _Hiccup_  of all things so damn smooth?

 Too smooth.  Smooth enough to play her with bad jokes and earnest hugs and kisses that made her feel alive.  Like she wasn’t just someone’s fiancée, winding towards the desired outcome, a fairy tale humming along on schedule.  If she saw him again she’d kiss him.  Probably after she punched him for not answering her, punched him for that hopeful little smile.  

 Customs takes too long and she hates the way that the man at the border kiosk looks at her, reminding her so jarringly that she’s back on the market.  Ms. Hofferson, paging prince charming.  She wants to turn the unfortunate loudspeaker off and sulk. She wants to suffer in peace, on this cold vacation that she didn’t want.  

 She can probably get ahead on her work, get through three or four bulky proposals.  Maybe if she returns to work with an armful of paperwork no one will ask her about the honeymoon.  No one will ask her about the failed wedding and the lonely honeymoon. No one will ask her about the strange interlude of happiness at thirty eight thousand feet.  She can just meld back into two years ago and draft out a new schedule.  

 Baggage claim is a crowded mess and it seems to take forever for her blue suitcase to drift around the turnstile.  She reaches for it, jolting when an arm darts out beside her, snatching the handle and heaving it to the floor.  She elbows whoever it is and makes contact with almost familiar ribs.  

 “I thought you invited me along,” the snarky wheeze catches her attention and she turns to see Hiccup, holding his side and glaring at her.  He’s red in the face but grinning, flight attendant vest over his arm along with a small black duffel bag.  “Unless you took that back when you left without me.”  

 “You didn’t come out of the plane.  I waited,” she scoffs.  “If you wanted me to wait you should have said something.  And I can carry my own bag,” she yanks the rolling handle a little too hard and starts dragging it away from the crowd.  He trots a step to catch up before falling in beside her.  

 “Sorry, I had to give my resignation.”  

 “What?”  She stops short of the exit and cocks her head at him.

 “I had to quit.”  

“I know what resignation means.  Why would you do that?”  

 “To take spontaneous time off,” he looks nervous again and she reaches out and grabs his hand without thinking.  It fits in hers, fingers neatly laced between her knuckles, like two halves of a whole. “Plus, like you said, I’m looking for a job in the front of the plane anyway.”


End file.
